


Death of an idea.

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one more of their family disappears, they do the only thing they can, they cling on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death of an idea.

**Title:** Death of an idea.  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Pairing/Characters:** Sam/Dean, Garth  
 **Word Count:** 2, 055  
 **Summary:** When one more of their family disappears, they do the only thing they can, they cling on.  
 **Warning:** Character Death (Supporting)  


  
Coiled tight, muscles stretched so thin over their already aching bones, the brothers watch helplessly as yet another one of their dwindling and desperate group of friends falls victim to this shit soaked dipping stick that is the life of a hunter.

Their own injuries don't matter. Not in this, the saddest of moments, in a long list of sad and sorrowful moments.

If they were to admit it to themselves, look in the mirror of each other's eyes, they'd know that once again, the choice was simple, and already made, made before the cool metal of the blade came into contact with Garth's already torn to shreds chest.

The very second the bullet had passed from the gun being levelled on them by yet another stupid fowl thing they'd come here to purge from the face of the blood stained and scarred earth, the decision was made.

Sam's done what Sam always does, thrown himself in front of the impending possibility of his brother's death. In that moment, he's sealed Garth's fate. They both have.

Once again they'd instinctually picked the life of a brother and a lover over the life of another.

As Sam's blood slowly seeps from a bullet hole the size of a golf ball, while Dean tries to stem the flow, they watch as Garth's eyes go impossibly wide, his mouth opens into a 'O' of terrified understanding and they watch, horrified, as once again a light that shone so bright and so brief blinks out of existence.

Several things happen so fast, not even the shifters they'd come to kill with their enhanced vision and grasp on reality can catch what's hurtling their way.

Fuelled by rage and grief and pain, the brothers move as one, Sam hauls himself to his feet as Dean ducks under his brother's shattered shoulder. Dean slides the silver blade from Sam's boot, Sam grasps the grip of the glock from the back of Dean's jeans and as a single death dealing organism, they fall on the two beasts who've just managed to erase another member of their family.

It's fast, it's brutal, and afterwards, still dripping in god knows what and hurting from head to toe, Sam and Dean drop to their knees next to the prone and peaceful form of their friend.

Peaceful is an odd way to describe someone who's insides have become their outsides, but peaceful is how he looks. Eyes closed, little half Garth smile on his face. Sam runs a thumb down his cheek, Dean squeezes the dead man's shoulder, once, and then they're all business.

Hunter's funeral, hunter's memorial, hunter's last rites.

****************************************************

With the blackest of night skies behind them, Sam and Dean watch as sparks fly from the pyre they hoped they'd never have to build and try to calm their own shaking, if well hidden, nerves.

Once again they've almost lost each other, and in the process managed to lose another brother instead.

Garth had been a tiny Stetson wearing pain in the ass but he'd been their pain in the ass. He'd grown on them, like bloody fungus, and now, as with every other person they've loved, they're here and having to bid him farewell.

Not to mention the fact that Dean is pissed. He's pissed at Garth for leaving himself wide open, at Sam for picking his life over someone else's...again! and definitely for him trying to get himself killed in the line of making sure he doesn't have to live without his brother.

Problem is he can't be too narked, not when, if it'd been the other way round, he'd have done the same, dove in front of that damned bullet and put a hole in his own back, just so he didn't have to watch the light go out in Sam's eyes.

He's seen that spark quashed too many times already, once more and he may have fallen head long off the sanity train.

Sam's head is bowed, hands stuffed in his pockets, chin to his chest, and Dean can see he's sobbing. Not the gentle silent tears he usually reserves for moments he thinks Dean isn't witnessing, but all out shoulder shaking sobs that break Dean's already fragile heart.

Dean can't get any closer to Sam, not without crawling in his shirt pocket, so he does the only thing he can, he lays a hand on Sam's cheek, thumb under his chin, and forces his brother to look up and into his completely open face, "Not your fault Sammy."

Sam hiccoughs, tries to wrench his face free of Dean's grip, "Was. Did it again Dean. The only thing I could, and now..."

He nods towards the raging fire and his face crumples.

Dean shoots for bravado, anything to try and distract Sam from the spiral he's headed down, "Little twerp had a good run Sam, he went out fighting, best any of us can ask for."

"Dean, don't."

Dean's grip tightens, he puts his free hand to the other tear stained cheek and practically snarls into his brothers face, "No! You don't. You did what you had to, and god damn it Sammy...."

He looks away then, shame and loss in his eyes, "I'd have done the same."

Dean hears the desperation in his brothers heart beat, feels his almost feral need with every dragged out pitiful breath, and does the only thing he knows how.

His lips come crashing down on Sam's. Salt and blood and snot all mingling to make a cocktail of too many disgusting bodily fluids for Dean to think too closely on.

It's not gentle and it certainly ain't sweet, but it's what Sam, and if he's totally honest, what he himself needs.

Sam's hands come up to grasp at Dean's hips and he whimpers into his mouth, the sound says one thing, just one...please.

It's been too many hunts, too many close calls, too many tips over the cliff. Dean and Sam have watched each other die more times than they can remember and they've seen every human being and some who weren't even that, fall to their knees in their aftermath.

Good people, good souls, all wiped off the face of the planet in the never ending quest for revenge and righteousness and it's too much for the brothers to handle.

In front of Garth's still flaming hunter's tribute, Dean throws a knee between Sam's legs, kicks his feet out from under him, and bodily pins him to the soot covered dirt.

They hit the ground so hard it jars Dean's knees and he knows Sam's wrecked shoulder has probably started oozing again.

He doesn't care.

Between rough, teeth on teeth kisses, Dean pants out words, words he so needs Sam to understand, "I'd have done the same, Sam, Sammy please it's....we've already lost so much, I'd have, shit I'd have put myself in front of that bullet in a second."

Sam flails for a grip, any grip, hair, skin, denim, anything he can use to anchor himself to his brother and the real world.

He's ripping at Dean's clothes, no finesse, no romance, not that they ever were big on the hearts and flowers side of their fucked up little road show, no preamble though.

They need, Sam needs, now.

Between the pair of them, Dean refusing to remove his lips from Sam's and Sam with his legs wrapped tightly round Dean's hips, they manage to remove the important obstructions.

Sam's ass is getting ground into the floor, probably burying a weeks worth of mud in every available crevice, but damn if he doesn't give a fuck. His jeans are barely over his knees, making movement anywhere but into Dean's crotch very difficult.

As for Dean, he's got his jeans and boxers open just enough to free his aching cock.

Dean manages to angle himself so that Sam's legs are both thrown over one of his shoulders, opening his brother up in all the right and best ways.

"Shit Sam, we...there's nothing.."

With Dean's already seeping tip pressed to Sam's tight ring of muscles, Sam doesn't care, he doesn't care how painful it's gonna be. It's what he needs, just this once, good old fashioned pain to ground them out through their ridiculous self serving need to feel each other in places no other person has managed to touch, "Don't care, please"

It takes all of Dean's self control to not just slam his way in, force himself where he needs to be, "Baby brother, don't wanna hurt you..."

Sam squeezes a hand between their bodies, pumps his cock twice, enough to slick it with the pre-come already sticking his shirt to his stomach, pulls his hand back and spits into his palm. Grasping the base of Dean's cock, Sam covers him as much as he can.

Dean's eyes cross and he grunts against the brazen need to pump his hips and goes to work on Sam's still jean clad legs. Pulling off boots and socks and one leg of his trousers, Dean slides the clothed leg over his head and down far enough to rest on his thigh.

Pressing forward, leaning into his brother, Dean licks his own fingers, snags a palm full of pre-come and starts working Sam's hole, still not gentle, but calmly enough not to rip him open.

Sam slams his head into the dirt hard enough to see stars and lets loose the most wanton sound Dean's ever heard come out of his brothers mouth, and there's been a few.

"God, Dean...I can't, fuck!"

"Planning on it Sammy."

First one finger, then another, scissoring, all the while watching for signs it's too much, then finally a third, slowly, agonisingly slowly for Sam, and then, as if something snaps inside, Sam's ready, open and wanting and Dean can't take it anymore.

He's buried, balls deep, thighs against Sam's ass cheeks. And it's torture, heavenly, possibly the wrong choice of words, but heavenly so.

"Shit Sammy, always so tight...always.."

Sam's body responds to him on a primal level, his back arches so far into the air Dean nearly gets his nose broken and that's all the invite he needs to piston his hips and slam Sam into the floor. Pinning with everything he has, heart, soul, cock, all linked in a way no one else will ever understand.

One hand curled into Sam's hair, grip hard and vicious, the other leaving bruises on his hip, Dean slides out slowly and slams back inside Sam so deep Sam can almost taste Dean's cock and it's just enough, just the right amount of hurt to heal the ache, for now.

Sam grabs his own cock, painfully pinned between their two bodies and lightly rings his fingers round the very tip, quick jerky movements meant to make him come crashing down to earth with a scream and a bump.

Dean loves this, loves that even when he can't touch his brother where he needs 'cos his hands are the only thing holding him upright, he can watch, watch as Sam, eyes heavy and lidded, brings himself off with Dean's cock buried deep in his ass. Each time knowing that Sam will never be able to jack himself off again without feeling Dean deep down to his toes.

"Come for me...come on baby brother, come for me"

That's all it takes. Sam comes so hard and so loud that Dean's eyes cross. He curls and twists bares down so tight on Dean's cock that he falls head first over the edge seconds after.

It's over before it's really begun, but once they've figure out who's limbs are who's and they're laying side by side on the musty ash covered floor, Dean feels like he can breathe again and knows that Sam's not prodding at the wall of emotion keeping him from falling headfirst off that ever bloody present edge.

Sam lays his head on Dean's shoulder, wincing as the exposed muscle in his own shoulder protests, and turns his face into the crook of brother's neck.

Dean lets him, lets the heat from Garth's well stoked fire warm them, sick as it may be, just allows Sam to feel himself there, the only real thing in their world full of fucked up crazy.

"Thank you."

"Girl."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Yours."

"Always Sammy, always."  



End file.
